chapter 30
Sebastian's POV:
I felt my jaw tighten at her question.
My eyes snapped to hers, genuine surprise cutting through the irritation. "How do you know about that?"
Elena's expression remained carefully neutral, but I caught the faint hint of satisfaction in her eyes. "I've been locked in this penthouse for a year, Sebastian," she said, her tone almost conversational, as if we were discussing the weather. "What else did you expect me to do with my time besides learn about you?"
The casual way she said it made something twist in my chest.
"And what exactly did you learn?" I asked, keeping my voice level despite the unease creeping up my spine.
She studied me with those blue eyes that saw far too much. "Enough to know that Isabella Morrison and her family have been connected to yours for a very long time. And there were... expectations."
The way she said 'expectations' carried a weight that told me she understood more than I'd realized.
"There was a childhood arrangement," I admitted, deciding honesty was the better play here. "Our families discussed it when we were young. But I never acknowledged it."
I watched her carefully, noting the way her shoulders remained just slightly tense. A dark satisfaction curled through me, and I couldn't quite suppress the slight smirk that tugged at my lips.
"Are you jealous, Elena?" I asked, my voice dropping lower, almost teasing.
She went rigid for just a moment, her eyes widening slightly before she schooled her features back into careful neutrality.
"I'm not—" she started, then stopped, seeming to reconsider. "I just needed to know how to... to handle the situation. If I'm going to this party with you, I should know who everyone is, what their relationship to you is."
I reached out, catching her chin gently between my fingers, tilting her face up to meet my gaze.
"Let me make this very clear," I said, my tone brooking no argument. "You are the only fiancée I have, Elena. You understand?"
Her eyes flickered, something uncertain passing through them before she looked away. I kept my hold gentle but firm, watching as she seemed to deliberately retreat from the topic.
"The party," she said, her voice a touch too bright, too quick. "There will be a lot of people there, won't there?"
I recognized the deflection for what it was but allowed it, settling back slightly. She'd made concessions—agreed to stay, to try. She wasn't ready to discuss our future, to acknowledge what I wanted us to be. But I could wait. I had patience when it came to her.
"Yes," I said, keeping my tone even. "Isabella's birthday is always a major social occasion. The Morrisons like to make a show of it—good for business connections, maintaining relationships. It's as much networking as celebration."
Something shifted in my chest as I said it, a familiar wariness creeping in. Adrian would likely be there. I turned to look at her more closely, noting the careful neutrality of her expression.
"Is there someone in particular you're hoping to see?" I asked, my voice taking on an edge I couldn't quite control.
Elena glanced at me, and I saw the flicker of understanding in her eyes—she knew exactly where my mind had gone. But instead of getting defensive or trying to reassure me, she just looked faintly resigned, as if she'd grown so accustomed to these spirals of suspicion that they barely registered anymore.
"I was thinking I could meet some people in the industry," she said, her voice level and matter-of-fact. "Other perfumers, maybe some designers. See if there are any opportunities to... to learn, or collaborate."
The tension in my shoulders eased immediately, relief flooding through me even as I recognized how irrational my suspicion had been.
"That's a good idea," I said, and meant it.
I studied her for a moment longer, then asked, "Is there anything else you need? Anything else we should discuss?"
Elena looked slightly puzzled, shaking her head. "No, I don't think so."
"Good," I said, standing and pulling her up with me in one smooth motion. "Then let's get back to what we were doing before Damian's ill-timed interruption."
I lifted her easily, carrying her toward the bedroom despite her small sound of protest. Once there, I laid her down on the bed and leaned over her, bracing my hands on either side of her head.
My mouth found hers, and for a few moments she responded, her hands sliding up to my shoulders. I deepened the kiss, my hand moving to her waist, then lower, gathering the fabric of her dress—
"Sebastian," she said suddenly, her hands pressing firmly against my chest, breaking the kiss. "Wait—don't forget that I'm pregnant."
I froze, my breath coming harder than it should have, the reminder hitting like cold water. My eyes dropped to her still-flat stomach, and I felt my jaw clench with frustration.
Then I caught it—the faint gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. The way her lips curved ever so slightly, as if she were trying not to smile. She'd responded to my kiss, let me carry her here, let things progress just far enough before pulling this card.
She'd done it deliberately.
She'd just discovered a new advantage, a new way to control the situation. The pregnancy that had been a source of anxiety was suddenly a shield she could wield.
"Fuck," I muttered, dropping my forehead against her shoulder.
But I didn't move away. Instead, I shifted my weight, settling alongside her, a hand gently leading her hand to my under.
Elena's breath hitched, her face flushing deep red as she realized what I was doing. "Sebastian—"